Robert Crais - Stalking the Angel

“It’s all this government subsidy. I’m thinking about putting in a Jacuzzi.”

When we were seated and had coffee, Carol looked at Jillian and smiled. “What’s your position in this case, Ms. Becker?”

“I work for the girl’s father. I’m not related to her.”

I said, “Jillian’s here because I’m going to need help with the parents. The more she knows, the more help she’ll be.”

“So far,” Jillian said coolly, “I don’t know anything. He hasn’t told me what’s going on.”

Carol gave Jillian a warm smile. “He’s like that. Secrets give him a sense of power.”

“Bitch,” I said.

Carol laughed, then leaned back in her chair and said, “Tell me about this little girl.”

I told Carol Hillegas all of it. When I got to the part about the cigarettes, Jillian Becker sat forward and brought one hand to her mouth and stayed like that. I told them about Eddie Tang and following him to the Pago Pago Club and finding Mimi, and then following her to Kira Asano’s. When I mentioned Asano, Jillian moved her hand from her mouth and said, “Bradley opened a hotel in Laguna Beach last summer. Asano had a showing in the hotel gallery.”

I said, “Would Mimi have gone to the opening?”

“Yes. She probably went down with Sheila.”

I told them about my talk with Mimi, and about her refusal to return home. Then I told them why. “She said she couldn’t go home because her father sexually molests her.”

Jillian Becker drew in a breath as sharp as a rifle’s crack. She said, “My God.” Then she stood up and went to the window.

Carol said, “You left her at Asano’s?”

“Yes.”

Jillian Becker shook her head and said, “This can’t be. I’ve known these people for years.” She shook her head twice.

Carol Hillegas got up and poured herself another cup of coffee. I’d once seen Carol Hillegas drink fourteen large cups of 7-Eleven coffee in a single Saturday morning. She said, “Leaving her at Asano’s was probably all right. Mimi’s there because she feels secure, and that’s probably the most important thing right now. In an environment where there is an incestuous relationship, the child loses all sense of security because there is never a safe, nurturing time. The person whom the child should be able to trust most is the source of fear and anxiety.”

Jillian Becker turned away from the window, came back, and sat on the edge of her seat. “I can’t believe Sheila could even suspect this and keep quiet.” She looked at me. “You’ve seen how she is.”

Carol drank more coffee and leaned back in her chair. She looked at Jillian and her face took on a more female quality, as if what she were about to say was somehow more female than male. “The mother might not know. She might only suspect, and there is a high likelihood that she would reject that suspicion out of hand. Somewhere along the line whatever the mother had with the father stopped, and he turned to their daughter. A way to look at it is that the daughter has usurped the mother’s power and position in the household. The daughter has proven herself more desirable and more satisfying to the male. More womanly. That’s not an easy thing to accept.”

“Sheila has a tough household position,” I said. “Wow.”

Carol looked at me and the female thing in her face was cool. “Understand that incest is a family problem with a tremendously complex dynamic. It is also one of the most socially shameful things a person can confront. No one wants to admit it, everyone feels guilty about it, and everyone is afraid of it.”

I said, “Great.”

“Something like this cannot be handled privately. By law, any licensed therapist or counselor has to report a suspected or admitted case of incest to the Department of Public Social Services Child Abuse Unit. The Department dispatches a field investigator who works with the private therapist, if there is one, or the district attorney’s office and police, if those two agencies are required. Incest is a violation of the criminal code and charges can be filed, but they usually aren’t if the offending parent and family agree to participate in therapy.”

Jillian said, “What if the parent refuses?”

“As I said, charges could be filed, but if the child won’t testify, and most of them won’t, there’s really nothing that can be done. The child would have to go into single therapy, but unless the parent and child work together, it is very difficult to get past the scars this kind of thing leaves.”

I said, “What about Mimi?”

“There’s no way I can make a diagnosis based on hearsay. You have to work with the client, and it can take many, many hours over many, many weeks. But clearly this girl is demonstrating severe aberrational behavior. She repeatedly inflicts pain upon herself, and she went to bizarre lengths to escape her environment. Most kids want to run, they just run. They don’t need to stage a phony kidnapping. The anger this child must be feeling is enormous, and most of it is directed at herself. That’s why the masochistic behavior. Another reason is that, subjectively, Mimi is looking for someone who will love her. When a person hurts herself the way Mimi has, they’re doing it because they want someone to make them stop.”

Jillian was nodding. “And the person who makes them stop is the person who loves them.”

Carol Hillegas said, “Essentially, yes. Sexual abuse isn’t love. It’s abuse.” She looked at me. “Mimi is like everyone else. She just wants to feel loved.”

“Should I call the cops?”

Carol shrugged. “The cops won’t kill her. They’ll take her in and when this comes out they’ll refer it to the DA and to Social Services and they’ll get her a counselor. Your instinct was to avoid the trauma of the arrest and the questioning, and in an ideal world that would be the best way to go. Mimi’s had enough trauma.”

I said, “If I can get Mimi and her parents to agree to come in, will you help?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the most trauma-free way to do it?”

“The girl should be in a stabilized environment, and should have established some trust with the therapist. If that’s me, I’d like to spend some time with her and some time with the parents before we try to bring them together. After we’re used to each other, we can begin the group work on neutral ground and see where it leads us.”

Jillian Becker said softly, “Bradley will never agree.”

I looked at her and leaned forward in my chair. “Yes, he will.”

She looked at me.

“I’m going to talk to Bradley and Sheila and I’m going to get them to agree to this, but I don’t want to do it at Bradley’s office. I want you to get them together at home. Can you do that?”

Carol Hillegas said, “How are you going to convince them?”

I ignored her. “Can you do that, Jillian?”

“Yes.”

“Will you?”

“Yes.”

I stood up. “Then let’s do it.”

I went to my office and Jillian went to hers, and fifty minutes later she called and told me to be at the Warrens’ home at three that afternoon.

When I got there, Jillian’s white BMW was parked behind Bradley’s chocolate-brown Rolls convertible. The Rolls’s top was down and it looked very sporty. Sort of like a tank with the turret blown off. A sky-blue Mercedes 560SL was parked in one of the garages just past the motor court. That would be Sheila.

At three in the afternoon, it was clear and bright and warm in Holmby Hills. Quiet. Mockingbirds chirped and bees floated around the snapdragons and poppies that lined the drive, and high overhead a single light plane buzzed east. Out on the street, somebody’s Salvadoran housekeeper walked toward Sunset Boulevard and her bus stop. She didn’t look at me and she didn’t look up at the plane.